


Except for One

by writingforlaurens (FreckledSkittles)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Romance, Voyeurism, and is also a drama queen, at least it's safe, gotta be careful, it's not even their house, kind of?, there is some really steamy stuff, thomas jefferson getting aroused by his reflection, thomas jefferson likes getting his hair pulled
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-15 05:46:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5773648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreckledSkittles/pseuds/writingforlaurens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all Alexander Hamilton's fault.</p><p>Or: Thomas and James go to a New Year's Eve party, and have sex in the bathroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Except for One

**Author's Note:**

> I fucking love JeffMads.
> 
> This wasn't supposed to have sex, but then I was like "nah why not" so now it has sex. Also this was just supposed to be a party, but it ended up being New Year's, even though it's not New Year's, but let's just say it is. :')
> 
> Also please note that Lafayette is non-binary in this fic because I love every aspect of that headcanon and I'm not at all sorry about it.  
> Enjoy the Hamilfic!

"I'm not going."

Thomas had a habit of walking into rooms unannounced, as if he was the owner of said place and didn't need to announce his presence beforehand. How others felt about this, he didn't know, though it also didn't quite matter. Besides, it was only done when there was something extremely urgent and important that  _had_ to be discussed  _immediately_ , or else who knew what could happen? So it was with a flourish of anger and a toss of an envelope that he entered the office of his dear friend James Madison and sat down across from him with a scowl.

James lifted the envelope from where it had landed on his desk and examined it. "What's this?"

"A letter of invitation," Thomas stated with a bleak smile, "from Miss Angelica  _Schuyler_. She's having a New Year's Eve party." Thomas knew his fellow Virginian wasn't one for socialization, but this was an entirely different matter. This was something he had to know about without having to explain.

And sure enough, much to his misfortune, James gazed up at him with confusion flooding his stare. "I'm not sure what this is all about."

"Dammit, James," he jumped up to his feet and ripped the invitation back into his hands, "I was  _invited_ to a  _social gathering_ at the  _Schuyler_ residence!  _Schuyler!_ "

"I heard that they're nice people—"

"Who hang around  _Hamilton_! And they want _me_ to attend their little party and _socialize_."

James surely understood now, but instead of bouncing back in irritation, he shook his head, his eyes shut, and sighed. "Thomas—"

"You don't have to lecture me." Thomas had already pulled out his phone and was opening up a new message to send to Angelica's contact. "I'm already declining."

"Because Alexander Hamilton is going to the same party as you?"

Thomas' head shot up quickly to glower at his friend, who was leaning back in his chair and smirking in amusement. "Don't you berate  _me_ , James. I have to see the bastard slice of ham in thirty minutes, and I've had a migraine since early this morning. I don't need you teasing me on top of it."

"I think you're overreacting."

"This is _not_ overreacting! This is very much appropriate!"

"Hamilton might not even pay attention to you. He's close with the Schuyler sisters, and I don't doubt John Laurens will be there as well—"

"Who?"

James sighed and let his head hang for a brief moment before he looked back up again. "Lafayette might be there."

"They'll be busy helping Hamilton make a mess of my life."

"Are you just going to focus on the negatives?"

"Name one positive and I'll think about going." That was certainly a lot to bet on, but Thomas was confident that there would be nothing that could be said to convince him of attending.

James remained silent, but then held out his hand. "May I have the invitation again?"

Thomas gave it to him, this time politely handing it over. Their fingers brushed together as he did, but he ignored it. The chill that traveled up his spine afterwards was due to the low temperatures of the room and the ones that breathed in from outside. He tightened his coat over his shoulders to ward it off.

A few moments later, James handed the invitation back over with a look of reluctance on his features. To Thomas, it looked like the face of a man who had just lost a bet with high stakes. Before he could open his mouth to gloat, however, he was beaten to the punch.

"I can go with you."

That wasn't supposed to happen.

"Uhh, I'm sorry," Thomas stepped forward and crouched down in front of his desk, "could you say that again for me? I don't think I heard you correctly."

James shut his eyes and released a long exhale. "I can go with you. The invitation says you can bring one other guest with you."

"Don't you want to do something special with Dolley? I know she  _really_ likes to get her party on at this time of the year."

"Dolley and I aren't seeing each other anymore. So…yes, I'm sure."

Thomas forced their gazes to meet, his hand tilting James' head up to stare at him critically. "You're kidding."

James navigated his hand away from his face. "I'm not kidding. And I would rather go to the party  _with_ you than hear how you got kicked out two hours before midnight."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what?"

"Dolley."

The name earned him a flinch and an uncomfortable shuffle. "I would not."

"Are you sure? Women can be horrible things, James."

"Thomas, don't say that. It was my decision, not hers."

"Oh." Thomas leaned back on his haunches before he stood up completely. To his knowledge, James had been happy with Dolley. She was certainly happy with him—and she was a southern woman as well! Maybe not a  _Virginian_ , but North Carolina would do. Thomas couldn't help but wonder what had caused the end of the relationship. No matter; there was nothing he could do to bring them together. If James didn't want to be with anyone, that was his decision, and Thomas would support that.

"Well," Thomas finally said, "if you really want to, I  _guess_ you can come along to the party. But only if you promise to take me out afterwards."

James returned to whatever work he had been doing before his friend had barged in. Even with his head now bowed, Thomas could see the slight appearance of a smile curving his lips. "We'll see, Thomas."

x-x-x

A few weeks later, Thomas found himself regretting his decision to ever show James the invitation. Maybe if he had kept it to himself, he wouldn't have been forced to come along. And he had been the one invited in the first place. He would much rather stay at home and do something else. Maybe he and James could have finally started the next season of "Breaking Bad", or finish up "House of Cards" before Hamilton did instead of attending a lame party.

"James, I feel sick," he said for what was an unknown amount that he wasn't keeping track of. He was given silence as his response: James' hands were taut around the steering wheel and his eyes were focused on the road ahead, searching for the right street. "Did you hear me?"

"I did," the other man replied as he turned onto a cul de sac. "I just didn't reply."

"How dare you." Thomas slumped against the passenger door. He only managed another minute of silence. "I don't think I told Angelica you were coming."

"Hamilton already said last week that he can't wait to see me at the party."

"Eugh, Hamilton. Now I think I might actually throw up." His fingers latched onto the door handle and tugged on the locked door. "James, pull over, I need to puke."

"Thomas, stop, we're almost there!"

The Schuyler mansion was at the very end of their street, where cars had already crowded along the parking lot and sidewalk. Some were positioned alongside the cul de sac's median, making driving between cars and finding a spot to park in general more difficult.

"I don't understand why you insist on showing up late to parties," James sighed as he finally found a spot not too far from the Schuyler's.

"Parties aren't fun until they hit the half-hour mark."

"We're an hour late, Thomas."

"Right, so now we get to be in the good part."

The duo walked up the street, much to the complaints about the cold ("if you didn't want to be late, we would have had a better spot" "don't harass me, _James_ "), and despite the best efforts to keep him back, Thomas sauntered into the quite spectacular house with a flourish. The chandelier overhead glistened with lights and illuminated the front parlor, where a number of people were already gathered. There were familiar faces passing by, some greeting him as he passed, others eyeing him cautiously or excitedly, as if his mere presence was an expectation for a showdown. James appeared by his side once more just as Angelica appeared before them in a blur of dusty rose pink. When she spotted Thomas, her smile faltered only slightly but still remained.

"Thomas! I'm glad you could make it!" She greeted him with a stiff yet warm hug. "Late as always. No surprise."

"I'll apologize on his behalf," James stated, and extended his hand when Angelica pulled away. "James Madison. I'm a good friend of Thomas'."

 _Good friend._ The phrase echoed in Thomas' head, yet not as absentminded as it usually was. This time, he took note of James' expression when he uttered the words. They were accompanied by a type of warmth, a softness in his features and a delicate pronunciation of his name, that Thomas could only recall one other person reacting that way around him. He couldn't even remember if James had done that with Dolley.

"I'm glad we can finally meet!" Angelica grinned, genuinely friendly, ever a proper hostess. "I hope you'll keep him in line."

"I'll do my best," he chuckled. "It's hard to keep track of him sometimes."

"I'm not an animal that has to be kept on a leash," Thomas scoffed before a hand yanked on his collar and tugged him down. Angelica's harsh whisper was in his ear as soon as the protest was on his lips.

"If you start a fight with Alexander," she murmured, "I will kick you out."

He only smirked, more to anger her than anything, and tore himself away, smoothing out the collar of his burgundy dress shirt. "No need to threaten me, Angie. I intend on avoiding him for the entire evening. Where do we put our coats?"

Angelica sighed, probably to resist hitting him (which he never put past her, especially after last year's mistake with the macaroni and vodka). "I'll take them. And I meant what I said, Thomas." He handed her his coat, which she roughly grabbed out of his hands, and then turned to James with a more friendly attitude. "It was a pleasure to finally meet you."

"And you as well." With both coats in hand, and a final warning glare at the taller man, Angelica was gone and up the stairs. James turned to Thomas with a frown. "Do you always rile up powerful women?"

"Only on Thursdays." He grabbed James' wrist and started to haul him towards the kitchen, where he knew they would be able to find the alcohol.

"She seemed serious. I hope you're not underestimating her."

"And disrespect the great Schuyler legacy?" Thomas looked at his friend in mock offense, but then rolled his eyes and laughed under his breath. "Please, James. What do you want to drink?"

After some reassurance that yes, one drink would be fine because they probably weren't leaving for a while, Thomas poured a drink for both him and James. However, when he turned to give it to his friend, he couldn't find him in his line of sight. The crowd had bunched together and the noise and blurs of figures made it difficult for him to see where his friend had gone off to. 

"Ooh, my favorite. How did you know?"

A hand brushed against his and removed the glass from it, and Thomas turned to protest, but the words settled on his tongue when he recognized Lafayette sipping the drink he had made. The French native waved at him past the glass, and took the barstool beside him. They were dressed rather exquisitely, which was barely a surprise—a one-strap red dress that slanted above their knees, accompanied by a belt and black tights that hugged their legs quite nicely—even with their hair pulled back in its usual ponytail, if a bit fancier. And yet the sight of them took Thomas by surprise, rendering him speechless for a brief moment. Lafayette simply sat beside him and stared, taking a sip of what had become their drink or batting their eyes in wait for him to speak.

"That's not for you," he finally managed, though with little reason. What was he going to do, give it back—and after drinking from it, no less? His James didn't deserve that type of treatment. (And when he had started to become  _his_  James, he wasn't sure.)

Lafayette snorted, chuckling under their breath. "Have you reached a sadder level of loneliness, or did I miss something?"

"It was for my _guest_ , actually, until you _stole_ it."

"I'll give it back when I'm done."

"No thank you."

A short interlude of silence.

"Don't you have something better to do than to sit here and watch me?"

Lafayette hummed in question, but then shifted in their seat with a shrug. "Hercules wandered off somewhere—he's my guest, a good friend of mine. And Alex and John have decided that making out with one another is much more appealing than chatting with me."

"Alex and _who_?"

They pointed a garnet-colored nail behind them, where, sure enough, Alexander Hamilton was occupied with kissing the face of a man around their age, with curly hair and freckled features.  _Oh, right._ He hadn't met John Laurens personally, but he did remember him from a run-in he had with Hamilton in a supermarket a few months ago. John had almost guided Hamilton away until Thomas had said something that apparently was enough to send both of them over the edge. The thought of Alexander Hamilton—of all people—having a lover who was so dedicated to his protection must have been enough of a shock to clear him from memory.

"Boyfriends," Lafayette explained, refilling their glass with a different type of alcohol. "Angry, passionate,  _loud_. Always want to start a fight with someone."

"Perfect for one another," Thomas completed with a growl.

" _Exactement_." They smirked at his response. "Though I'm not as bitter about it."

He rolled his eyes as Lafayette finished his first drink and carefully pried the other one out of his hand. He enjoyed the time he spent with Lafayette, but he always preferred it when they weren't in the general vicinity of Hamilton or anyone who was a part of that group. At that point, they were all too alike and too bothersome to be taken seriously.

"Have you found someone like that?" Lafayette asked. They explained further with a slight upward tilt of their lips. "A lover, romantic companion—you get the idea,  _non_?"

Thomas hesitated to answer, more in embarrassment that he hadn't found anyone who fit the bill. There was someone, long ago, when he was still living in Virginia: his childhood sweetheart Martha, who had filled his days with absolute joy. She was tiny compared to his height, and she devoured just as many books as he had. He accompanied her on the violin when she played the piano and their biggest worry was if they had practiced enough for the recital. They were two different faces, and yet they balanced each other out where others would be pushed away. Her death had broken his heart to the point where finding another companion by his side was incomparable. He wasn't sure if there was a way he could ever recreate good times like that without her.

Lafayette might not have known about Martha, but there must have been something revealing in the way Thomas refrained from speaking. The hand they placed gently on his shoulder resulted in a wince and a shrug of his shoulder. "Thomas?"

"I did," he answered in a quiet voice. "A long time ago." He shook himself out of the daze, and sighed, forcing a weak smile. "But not anymore, no."

"What happened to them?"

"She got sick. Not much for anyone to do about that." The real truth of the matter—the expectations of a child that raised their hopes, the sudden launch into labor in the middle of her second trimester, the failure to rescue the baby from a miscarriage and Martha's passing alongside their daughter—was too much for him to reveal, especially to Lafayette and especially at a party.

" _Crois à ma sympathie_ ," Lafayette offered with a downtrodden smile.

"Thank you. It was a long time ago. I was still in college when it happened."

"Still, no one should have ever had to endure such heartbreak." There's a slight hesitation to their tone, as if they knew the truth behind the matter and were hesitant to go further with the thought they wanted to express. "And no one has ever been able to match that?"

Thomas thought about it briefly, and discovered, with disbelief that he hadn't seen it before—that no one ever reached his expectations or mended his heart—except for one. The feelings of fluttering butterflies inside his stomach, the illusion of walking on air, the side glances and gentle smiles with a thousand and one hidden meanings: no one accomplished that anymore—except for one. Just the mere presence of one individual couldn't rupture a fierce burning in his heart to whisk them far away to a place of solitude and dote on them hand and foot—except for one.

"You know," Lafayette started up again, "Hamilton once thought he would never find love again. He lost everything to come to America, and…it's very difficult to pick yourself back up from tragedy like that. To have no one you know, or someone who can help you out. It's terrifying." They spoke as if they had been in that spot before, and they had experience with the same things he was speaking of. Thomas had a rough idea on the struggles Lafayette had as a child—losing their family at a young age and struggling to get to America and make a living, doing so with help from the renowned Washington's—but they had never gone into specifics. And Thomas didn't feel it would be right to ask. "But you do it anyway, for whatever reason that may be. Some people make it a job, or a hobby, or just to survive. Things like that. But others," they nodded to Alexander and John, who had stopped kissing for the time being and were simply whispering and gazing at one another with absolute lovestruck stares, "rely on people."

"That's…" In any other situation, maybe in a world where he wasn't plagued with the death of a loved one, Thomas would have said it was reckless, because who could put so much faith into one person and not burn from the aftermath? But that was not the case, and that was not his response; "risky."

"So it is. But," a faint smile appeared on their lips, and they winked, " _c'est la vie._ "

Thomas wanted to cringe at the cliche phrase, and would have expressed his criticism, but the broad-shouldered figure of his dear friend—his  _except for one_ —suddenly reappeared in front of him. He hopped to his feet immediately, eagerly, and he grabbed his arms as soon as he was close. He barely registered the utterance of his name—"Thomas", soft and delicate and fragile—before he was demanding answers.

"Where have you been, James?" He seethed between clenched teeth. "If you really didn't want to drink, you could have just said so."

"I got separated by you," James explained, his grip just as taut and unyielding. His eyes wandered behind him, and Thomas turned to see Lafayette chatting with someone else—maybe Hercules, maybe someone else, but it looked bizarre. Both their heads were bowed as they mumbled to one another, and even John and Hamilton had taken a notice in their friends. When Lafayette spotted the obvious staring, they smirked and waved daintily at him. Their friend turned and did the same, his eyes held on James.

A thought flew to Thomas' head, but he rejected it immediately.  _This couldn't have been a setup._  He didn't come to the Schuyler mansion only to be separated from his dear friend so he could have a deep conversation with a non-binary French native and then be shoved back into the arms of his closest companion. But James was staring at his lips, eyes with dark chocolate irises flitting up to swirling umber, and he couldn't ever remember a time where he had felt nothing but deep adoration for his dear friend, the one person who made the whole experience of life a little more bearable.

There was a commotion around them, the crowd dissipating only slightly to surround the television and count down the entrance to the new year. To Thomas, they could have been mocking him and he wouldn't have noticed. His sole focus was zeroed in on James, on the hands he placed on his hips and the hot puffs of air he felt on his lips. His hands gripped the collar of his dress shirt under his sweater vest—he had made fun of it earlier, but now he wanted the offending material  _away_ —as electric waves danced along his spine and raised the hair on his arms. Thomas didn't care what time it was, or where they were, or how much celebration was happening around them, because he was drowning in James' hands and James' smell and James'  _kiss_ , and he wondered why it had taken so long for this moment to happen.

James was awkward against him, his hands initially scrambling to his back to press their bodies closer together, but Thomas' lips on his seemed to support a sudden urge of passion within him. The shorter man pressed against him earnestly, as they captured the mouths that uttered their names with such delicacy, like their names were made of expensive cloth. James' hand wandered up to nestle into his mane of curls, helped tilt his head to the side for better access, and Thomas' hips nearly bucked at the tugging ministrations. The desperate keen that he failed to hold back was quickly swallowed by James, and _oh God_ if he kept on going like that, he wasn't going to last—

"Where's the bathroom?" James asked as they pulled apart for air, nibbling on his lower lip in anticipation.

Thomas couldn't move fast enough to haul him to the bathroom.

x-x-x

Thomas was far from a stranger when it came to performing sexual relations with a man, and he knew that the same applied to James as well (alcohol truly brought out the truth for many users). Granted, it had been long ago for both of them, in a time where college was the best time to "experiment"—or, in Thomas' case, there was a thirst for sex that could only be satisfied with a one night stand and no strings attached—and learn one's body before finding the right partner. After Martha, Thomas didn't—and couldn't—find anyone else to satisfy him like she had. And, by the looks of it, James had tried to find some sort of satisfaction with Dolley as well. Perhaps it was something deeper that had separated them, something that could not be explained in simple words.

Now those weren't thoughts that were appropriate to ponder on when the man he desired was throwing him up against the wall and slamming their lips together, creating a perfect rhythm to follow.

Thomas was just able to lock the door with fumbling fingers before he grasped onto James' shoulders as a leveled surface. Firm hands were frantic against his body, rubbing into his side and his chest in a matching rhythm to the lips that captured his. There was something in the confident movements that James performed, the way his mouth traveled down his jaw to his neck, the subtle brush of their hips that enticed confident shifts. Thomas panted in an attempt to gather stability in his breathing, but with the pulsing trail that was behind mapped out on his neck, it was near-impossible to focus on that for long.

"James," he mumbled softly, his mouth opening a bit wider around the gasp that slipped past his restraint, " _fuck_ , James—"

James' eyes wandered back to his, and Thomas' hands clenched into his sweater. The utter devotion that swam in his eyes was more than he could handle at the moment. "Do you like this?"

Although it was hesitant, he nodded in confirmation, his hands clamping behind his neck and pulling him back down for a searing kiss. James felt warm and homely against his body, a solid rock that radiated with care and dedication in each caress and kiss. It made Thomas feel safe, even if the only risk was someone who urgently had to use the upstairs bathroom and had to watch the duo emerge, frazzled from kissing and flustered for being found.

"Take this damn thing off," demanded Thomas as he pulled back, tugging on the end of his sweater vest. He was more than a little desperate, and he could feel his member already straining in his pants, though he ignored it enough so that he could get what he was too prideful to ask—or even _beg_ —for. "It's ugly."

James smiled, a slight spark of mirth lighting up his eyes, and he did as requested. "You're extra bossy when you need something."

The observation had been said once before, though at that time it had been out of exasperation for his excessive habit to rudely request what he wanted. Now, it was a tease that was only his to hear, an almost chiding for his behavior, and Thomas had to bite his lip to stop himself from reacting suddenly.

"Take the pants off, but keep the shirt on."

"Why?"

"Easier access."

Thomas resisted the snicker that played on the outside of his lips, but a hand tangling and pulling back on his hair ruptured all thoughts for the time being. A low moan exited instead, and his nails dug into the door behind him.  _Shit._

"Careful," he groaned, still managing a small smirk. "It's a good hair day."

"My apologies," James released the locks with a quiet laugh, opting instead to affectionately trail his palm against his face. "I'd hate to ruin it."

Thomas shut his eyes and nuzzled the hand affectionately, the prickles of his beard gently tracing against coarse fingertips. The gesture was soothing, calming his heartbeat to something leveled and calm. Lust still pumped in his veins, pooled especially below his waist, thrumming against every nerve and making him feel alive. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to enjoy James' other hand gently hugging his hip, the short pecks they shared like butterfly kisses. It was then Thomas realized, with a start, that James had always been the person he went to the most, his  _except for one_ , where exceptions were made with a faint dusting of a smile and an internal question on when their next run-in would be. Everything felt right, and not because of his confidence in his experience. It was why he sighed at the plump lips that were starting to mold over his, gave into the carnal desire to  _take_ —

It was also why he suddenly reached over and grabbed James between the legs without a warning.

"Thomas—!" At the sudden contact, James' hips twitched and his shoulders raised in alarm. A shocked keen followed soon after as his eyes flitted up to gaze at Thomas, who only smirked in triumph. His hair may have been a point of weakness for him, but that didn't leave James off-limits to being rendered speechless.

"Is something wrong, James?" He wondered with a teasing lilt to his voice. His hand increased the pressure with a firm squeeze, and James bucked forward, bracing his hands on either side of Thomas' head. "We can stop—"

" _No_." This time, it's James' turn to order him, and Thomas would be lying if he said that his gut didn't stir at the tone. Their eyes met once more, and they settled into another burning kiss, this time with both their hands weaving around their bodies and _pulling_ , urgently and desperately. James kept his hands placed on his hips, a placement Thomas was satisfied with, while he wandered back to his neck and let his hands scratch along his back. The sensation must have felt good, for James hummed into the kiss and pulled back with a slight nip to his lower lip.  _Oh._ Was that supposed to feel as nice as it had?

"Do that again," he whispered, though choked more on the words than he intended.

"Still demanding," the shorter chuckled, earning an eyeroll from Thomas. "Thomas, you know better than that."

"Shut up. You shouldn't be this insufferable."

"I shouldn't?" And with a teasing smirk and a single flick of his wrist, he unzipped Thomas' trousers. It sounded too loud, harsh to his ears—he wondered if anyone downstairs had heard it—and the release of pressure was soothing to the aching below his waist.

James' hands stilled on either side of his pants, hovering by the waistband as if he wasn't sure of his actions. The touch was uncomfortably close to bare skin, a sensation he had quietly been waiting for as patiently as he could, but was now aching for. Thomas gently took the larger pair of hands and pressed them against his sides, a silent request that it was okay to move forward. James took the confirmation and reassurance, carefully edging his pants down, but paused when his fingers skimmed over his boxers.

"Do you want to go this far?" James asked in a small whisper, like he didn't want to push him too far. Thomas could only smile at that—not a smirk, or a tease, but affectionate and soft—something that was far from his normal expression. One hand reached up to gather the shorter's attention, running his thumb against his lower lip affectionately.

"If I didn't, would I have let you touch my hair?"

James chuckled at that, his hands rising up to grapple onto the undergarment and tug it down with his pants. He let it pool at his ankles as Thomas, impatient and antsy, tugged him back up by his shoulders so he could slam their lips together. The wait was too long, the anticipation searing in his gut, and if he didn't get  _something_ soon, he was going to explode.

"Maybe—" James tried to utter out, but the mouth on his and the hands wandering down his front were distracting him from getting anything out. Thomas was fast and quick, and he knew what spots to touch at the right time. His face lit up in a smirk when his hands finally wandered and undid his pants to tug them off as well, resulting in a sigh of relief. "Maybe we should—talk about things first?"

"Save it for later," Thomas murmured, kneeling so that he could pull James' pants off. His eyes wandered to the cock mere inches from his face, and a smirk slowly made its way to his features. "Right now, I think we're a little too…excited to talk about our emotions." To prove his point, he blew a soft puff of air onto James' cock, and the man shivered, his fists clenching and pressing into the door.

"Thomas—"

"Hmm?" He opened his mouth and took in the head, and James fisted his hands into the curls for more leverage. Thomas let him for the time being, too focused on pleasuring him with his tongue. He gently pressed against the head, salty from the precome that had come out, though he made sure not to take too much in. It wasn't about teasing James (though if that was what he got out of it, then who would he be to control his reactions?), but he also didn't want this to end early. And as much as he would have liked to suck him until the tip hit the back of his throat, to listen to the already desperate pants and keens from above him, he would rather put it off for another day so that taking his pants off wasn't just for a couple of blowjobs in a bathroom.

"Do you have lube and a condom?" Thomas asked as he pulled back and gazed up at him. Probably in an attempt to balance his breathing, James pointed to his pants, and Thomas rifled through the pockets to pull out the essentials. He placed them on the counter beside them and stood back up. Due to his crouched position, he wobbled slightly on his feet, grabbing James by the shoulders for balance. He relished silently in the firm grip that steadied him by his hips. "Were you planning on doing this all along, or were you deceiving me?" He chuckled when he received a tilt of the head as a response. "You don't seem like the type of person who would just be carrying a bottle of lube and a condom in his pants pocket just in case he gets lucky."

"Oh—no, it's nothing like that," James shook his head, seeming a bit embarrassed—and hesitant—to explain. "It was, ah…given to me."

"For what, New Years? I didn't think it was a gift-giving occasion."

"It's not, it…" He sighed in defeat, his shoulders slumping. "Hercules Mulligan gave it to me and said 'you never know', because he wanted to help me figure out my feelings for you."

 _Oh._ So that was Hercules talking to Lafayette right before they had disappeared into the upstairs bathroom. Although the thought didn't give as much relief as it should have; Thomas, if anything, was livid at the discovery. It only further fulfilled his suspicions of this whole thing being a setup. As far as he knew, James could have even been set up just to satisfy him—to  _pity_ him. Sure, he felt his heart flutter whenever his best friend walked into the room, and maybe his stomach fell apart when he smiled or laughed in that deep rumpling sound that he would never be able to get enough of, but that was no excuse to torture him for a night.

"Thomas," James' hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality, and Thomas found his eyes being gently guided by a hand on his chin back to his eyes, "there's nothing to be angry over. If it weren't for Hercules' encouragement, I don't think I would have been able to be here with you. You mean a lot to me, Thomas. It…" His hesitation returned, but Thomas still hung onto every word, controlling his desire to finish the thought or to interrupt him. "It's been a long time since I've felt this way about you. But you stopped being just a good friend—a best friend—a long time ago. You're more than that to me. Being with you…it makes me alive. You take time out of your day to talk to me—to acknowledge me, and to hear what _I_  have to say. There's no one else who can make me feel like this…except for you. And I don't mind that you can be rough around the edges, because that's only a small part of you, and it can't match to what makes you so unique."

"James…" If there was anything as heartfelt or as flooded with such emotions, James had won the gold. His experiences with him had always included him as a heartfelt person—crying at good movies, giving gifts that were _touching_ and _thoughtful_ —but this was different. This time, it was something deeper than anything Thomas could reach, something that had to be too good to be true. And that meant he had to refrain from even subtly referencing or thinking about it for a second. As much as he appreciated his positive characteristics (what one would call "prideful", in this case), he knew it was difficult for someone like James— _especially_  James—to deal with someone like him. His only response that acted as an appropriate reaction for this was a smirk followed up by a snort. "I hope you didn't go soft on me."

It wasn't the right reply, no, and it's clear in the way James frowns so fiercely that he wasn't pleased with the reply, but Thomas cannot find it in himself to take it back. This was much easier to put to paper—and he was quite skilled with words! But speaking them out loud, using them to express _emotion_ , was a difficult feat to accomplish. If he could just write it, maybe it would be okay. Maybe he could somehow get away with that being a reasonable "excuse" for his lack of words.

"Thomas," James started, "you don't have to joke about it if you're uncomfortable. You don't even have to respond. I can wait until you're ready."

"James—"

"All I need to know is if you feel the same. Just yes or no, Thomas."

James didn't actually expect words from him, did he? It was bad enough he had to be sarcastic, and that was hard on its own. But now, there was the chance to confirm or condemn what would be the outcome of the night. Thomas knew neither of them could go back to the party sporting dying erections, and especially not with the disappointment to go through so much trouble only to end up sexually unsatisfied. That wasn't fair to either of them, that he knew. So why couldn't he speak? Why couldn't he make the words happen and let them fly off his tongue? He could do it for anyone else, no matter how he felt about them. And yet he froze for James, because what is there _not_ to say? James is great, and James is beautiful, and James likes him for being an asshole (not literally, but definitely figuratively). He can't put into words how he felt, even if he could have spoken.

Instead, Thomas hauled him close so he could kiss him, and he poured his passion into the movements of his lips. His hands cradled James' face delicately, carefully. Perhaps his reasoning, his sudden surge forward, was explainable, or maybe James just knew him well enough, because the kiss deepened beyond desperation. It was the emotions he made him feel that set his head spinning on his shoulders. Thomas's legs wobbled beneath him from the force, the mere shove forward and down and everywhere at once, burning with each touch. Thankfully, and unexpectedly, James lifted his legs up and allowed the long limbs to wrap around him. He was hoisted up a bit higher so that the height difference increased, and they broke apart once his knees were firmly positioned around his waist.

"Did that answer your question?" Thomas panted with a small smile.

James cocked an eyebrow, but there was an underlying layer of mischief in his expression. "I didn't ask a question."

"Let me do the honors then." Thomas leaned forward so that his lips were against his ear, and he shivered beneath him. "Why aren't you inside me?"

James gasped at the question, his hands clenching where they were spread against his skin, and he quickly changed the position. One arm wrapped around Thomas' waist and held him close so that his chest pressed into his cheek while he reached over to the counter and grabbed the bottle of lube. His erection, especially aching with the lack of attention it had received, rubbed against him, causing Thomas to grip onto his shoulders and hips with a little extra firmness. He turned to gaze in the mirror that was positioned above the counter as a distraction, and he watched James squirt a liberal amount of lubricant onto his fingertips. Thomas noticed both of their lips were plump from kissing, and his hair was wilder than when he had left his house. It was obvious someone had ran their hands through it, the curls haphazard and sticking out in random positions.

He kept his eyes locked on their reflection as he was settled back against the door, and James propped him up so he could have access to his entrance. He must have noticed that he was distracted, because he glanced up at him and then made eye contact with him through the mirror. Thomas smiled, faint and sure, and patted his head gently, his hips shifting beneath him as a reminder of what he wanted—what he  _needed_ , as much as he would hate to admit to it. The gesture was enough to bring James' attention back to him, and he pressed a gentle finger against his entrance. Thomas shivered at how cold it was, but his legs tightened against his waist, and he allowed himself to relax. James' free hand reached up to smooth down his hair, to caress his cheek and brush his thumb against his chin, to bring his eyes back to him and to reassure him that nothing bad could ever become of him when he was there.

Thomas was used to the dominant position when he was with another in bed (even if he wasn't in bed at that very moment), but being on the receiving end wasn't foreign to him either. Those times were more adventurous, more of a search to find what his body liked and what made him fray and twitch and fall apart. But it was always with an exception—always one who was separated from the bunch—who permanently changed his outlook. It wasn't just about pleasuring himself until he reached his peak, but about sharing a moment of intimacy with the other person. So when James pushed in the first finger, gentle and slow and placing kisses all along his jaw, Thomas understood what the deeper meaning was, despite their location and despite the circumstances that had led them to that point.

He tried to move his hips, in an attempt to get used to the foreign intrusion, or maybe in a rush to calm his impatience, but James distracted him with the trailing kisses that he punctured against his neck. Thomas relaxed against him, softly purring against the kisses with pleasure, and he didn't notice that a second finger was inside until he felt them spread and prod. "Shit—" He jumped slightly from his position, and his toes curled against his back. James apologized into his skin with more pecks, nuzzling against him and guiding his head into his shoulder. Thomas chuckled dryly and averted his gaze to meet his once more. "Relax, James. It just took me by surprise."

"Didn't it hurt?" He asked— _stop staring at me like that, dammit, you're making me feel bad_.

"This isn't my first time, you know." The phrase was supposed to sound less of a brag and more of a fact, but he could see the slight tilt in James' expression. He shook his head and kissed him tenderly, soft and gentle and assuring. "But it's our first time together, and that makes a major difference."

With the encouragement bringing him back up, James smiled and brought their lips together as his fingers continued. They were prodding more carefully now, moving back in slower than they were moving out, but it changed pace and quickened when Thomas gasped and clenched on the fingers. With the hitting of his prostate, and the pumping of fire into his veins, he found himself lost to everything but James and his hands, one around his waist and tugging him close and the other driving up into that sweet spot that thrummed inside of him.

"James—" Thomas threw his head back, panting, and his hands scrambled against the door for something to hold onto. When he couldn't find anything, his fingers scraped into his hair, digging his nails into his scalp and crying out. "I-I'm gonna come!"

James was quick to pull his fingers out, and he grabbed the condom wrapper, opening it with a tear of his teeth. Thomas, his arms practically lifeless, dropped from his hair to take the packet.

"H-here, let me."

He tore the condom out and, with a hiss of sensitivity from above, slid it over his erection. It was easier this way, he knew, instead of having James hold up his weight again and blindly put it on. Thomas squirted a generous amount of lube on it just in case, and added a few teasing strokes to spread the lube around. James glared at him for the taunts and jostled him so that his knees were propped up by the crooks of his elbow. Thomas yelped at the sudden movement, his arms wrapping around his shoulders for leverage. This time, it was his turn to shoot his partner a glower, who only shrugged in innocence.

"You deserved it," he smirked.

"Jerk," Thomas huffed, but all protests or pouting dropped when he realized how close they were to satisfying the anticipation they had built up. James shifted him a bit more gently so that he was comfortable, the tip of his cock brushing against Thomas' entrance. He smiled up at the curly-haired man, whose only response was to swoop down for a kiss before he would have to brace himself for the stretch. (James wasn't the smallest man, a trait Thomas silently praised and thanked him for.)

James was slow in pushing inside of him, taking his time so that Thomas could get used to the pressure. They pulled apart at the intrusion, Thomas' hands gripped tightly into his shirt with a dry hiss. It had been a long time since he had done this, and he put most of the blame for that on James since it had been his feelings that stopped him from pursuing his fellow Virginian, and there was certainly a size that Thomas couldn't ever remember taking himself. It was a strange yet welcomed pressure, something he was sure he could never get used to—and not in the terrible way. There would be things he could never become accustomed to, just because he was entirely different from what was given to him: James' kindness, his tenderness and the melodically deep molasses of his voice, and now the pleasant stretch that came upon him when he entered him.

 "Well," Thomas panted with a taunting grin, draping his arms across James' shoulder, "what are you waiting for?"

The first few thrusts were shallow, not moving far from their current position until Thomas hauled himself up, nearly taking James' cock out of him. When he dropped back down, breaking out into loud moans as he did, they created a continuously fast past with their hips. Thomas gripped onto the back of his shirt, tugging him closer as he leaned against the door. His eyes wandered back to the mirror, and he watched James disappear within him only to be dragged back out and shoved inside with a single twitch of his hips. Thomas, wide-eyed and wild hair, stole a glance at his reflection, and wondered how wrong it would be to admit that staring at his sweaty form, eyeing his aching erection and the other one currently thrusting inside of him, and  _reveling_ in the sight of it all, made him more excited than ever. The feeling only increased when that same bundle of nerves was punctured and the same flames of pleasures scorched his insides.

"James,  _please_ ," he begged, throwing away whatever pride he had left inside of him, "oh _God_ , go faster, _faster_ —"

He was cut off by a large hand gripping his erection and pumping, and how he was able to hold up his body and continue an even amount of thrusts was anyone's guess. Thomas was overcome with pleasure, the fire spiraling inside his gut and pushing  _out_ and there had never been something he had desired more than to  _release_ it, and James was the cause of it, James had started it, James, "James,  _James_ —!"

x-x-x

"What do I do with it?"

"I don't know, James, just flush it."

"That's unsanitary, I'm not doing that."

"Then throw it away! Ugh, there's lube dripping out of my ass. And now I have to wear your dumb sweater vest because you made me get cum all over it—"

"At least it matches your shirt."

"How dare you. I am never wearing this ever again—"

Thomas, now fully-clothed and definitely wearing said sweater that was just a few sizes too big, opened the bathroom door and nearly ran into another party guest—and one he recognized all too well. And after discovering that his shirt was now stained with the remnants of sexual activities, his mood was beyond livid, and Alexander Hamilton was the last person he wanted to be seeing.

"Hello, Thomas," Hamilton greeted with a Cheshire-cat smirk. "I didn't know you were invited." Beside him, his boyfriend John Laurens clung to him and shot a glare at Thomas. If it was because of the alcohol that swayed his feet or a protective reminder of what had happened the last time their paths had crossed, he wasn't sure.

"I'm sure you didn't," Thomas murmured under his breath, stepping out of the bathroom and past the duo.

"What did you say to him?!" Laurens snapped and surged forward, but Hamilton held him back with a few soothing whispers and an arm snaked around his waist. His voice wasn't nearly as alcohol-heavy as Thomas expected, but there was an obvious smell of beer that wafted off of John. He couldn't resist a snort, already down the first few stairs, and turned back to them.

"If you'll excuse me, I have to be heading home. I have something important to do."  _Like pounding James Madison into the mattress._ Speaking of which, Thomas glanced up and into the bathroom to see James worriedly glancing from the garbage can to the toilet. He rolled his eyes; the man was too concerned about trivial matters sometimes. "Are you coming?!"

James tossed the tied-off rubber into the garbage and emerged from the bathroom, startling Hamilton and Laurens in the meantime. "I was getting rid of it."

"That's disgusting." Thomas, satisfied with James now behind him, ignored the gawks from the two behind them as they strode down the stairs. "Should we go to your place or mine?"

"It doesn't matter. Yours is closer."

"Hey, Jefferson," Hamilton called out once more, and the duo turned to see him standing in the doorway, his boyfriend staggering behind him to the toilet. There was a smirk on his lips that was all too telling, that said he had known all along that they would be in the bathroom having sex, like he had _planned it_ from the very beginning, and Thomas knew that there was no way this wasn't planned, every bit of it. Whether his invitation was or not was anyone's guess, but from Lafayette and Mulligan to the very end, this was Hamilton's idea. "Good to hear you two worked things out."

And, with Thomas fuming at the foot of the stairs, the door to the bathroom closed on them.

x-x-x

"I can't believe him," Thomas huffed. He and James found themselves once again in the car, driving back to his house so they could talk more. They had agreed after they had tidied themselves up that it would be best to discuss further matters regarding their relationship before taking the next step. "Fucking Alexander Hamilton is the reason why I got laid tonight."

"Technically, you didn't fuck Alexander Hamilton," James pointed out, casual yet also teasing. "You didn't even do any fucking."

"How  _dare_ you. Stop talking to me."

"You don't really think it's that bad, do you?"

"It is  _definitely_  bad,  _James_! There is  _no_ reason why he should take his business  _anywhere_ near  _mine_!"

"Thomas, you do understand what he's done, right?"

" _Yes_ , James, I do—"

"So you know that he just gave us a chance to actually work things out."

Thomas paused, hesitant to reply. That wasn't the point at all. Alexander Hamilton and his boyfriend and his bastard friends (even if Lafayette wasn't that bad at times) made it his personal mission to interfere on his personal life. And Thomas knew because once a thought hit Hamilton, there was no shaking it out of him. "What are you trying to say?"

"Do you think that if Mulligan hadn't separated us, and if Lafayette hadn't talked to you, we would have gone upstairs and had sex in the bathroom of the Schuyler mansion? Because I don't think either of us would have ever had the courage to do such a thing, much less reveal how we really feel about each other. I know I still would have been too afraid to tell you that I'm interested in…," the words stopped on his tongue, before slowly coming out in a sigh, as if relieved to release them, "dating you."

Oh. So that was what he was getting at. Well, as if it made a difference: Hamilton still meddled where he shouldn't have, and that was the important thing.

Even so…with the way that James was looking at it, even with his rough history with Alexander, there was no denying that what he had done wasn't helpful. And it wasn't like Hamilton had actually  _participated_ in it, thank God—probably as a safety measure. But it helped them either way. And who cared if it was with Alexander Hamilton? What mattered most of all was that they were able to talk, or at least acknowledge their feelings for one another, and it was bringing them towards a positive step in their relationship.

Thomas sighed, and he reached over to intertwine his fingers with James' hand. He didn't say anything, but judging from the smile on his face, the actions were well received. Thomas continued to stare out the window, this time with a smile of his own.

**Author's Note:**

> This really is something, wow. And shoutout to the Lams cameo, am I right? Protective Laurens ftw.


End file.
